


The Solar System

by timey_wimey_wayward_lock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timey_wimey_wayward_lock/pseuds/timey_wimey_wayward_lock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock asks John to teach him about the Solar System.</p>
<p>It doesn't exactly go to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Solar System

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers,  
> This is my first Johnlock fic!
> 
> I apologize if there any any grammar, spelling, or wording issues. Inform me of them when you find one, it would be great to know so I can fix them!
> 
> Feel free to post the link on Tumblr, but I would really appreciate it if you would include my author name.
> 
> My Tumblr is: guitarriffsandcolouredpicks.
> 
> Leave some comments and tell me what you think!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Sherlock, if you want to learn this, you are at least going to have to give a damn," John stated, rolling his eyes. He had gotten home from work not only an hour ago, and Sherlock had suddenly begged him to teach him astronomy. John had been quite shocked when the detective had first asked. They had sworn not to discuss the subject any further, since it was last spoken of. Rightfully so, since it had always ended up in an argument. Usually that argument never ended, and John would get so frustrated he would just have to give up. "Okay, let’s start from the beginning. What is a celestial body?" 

 

Sherlock looked hardly thrilled; his hair was a mess and he was sprawled out on the couch in nothing but pants and his dressing gown. There was a sneer on his face, and his eyes were closed. Normally the man wore the trademark smirk, but as they reviewed, it was missing from his sharp face. "A Celestial Body is any object outside of Earth's atmosphere. Obvious." Sherlock grumbled, with a flick of his wrist.

 

The man was infuriating, and it seemed, a terrible student as well. Everything else Sherlock set his mind to master; he had done so within a matter of minutes or days. This though, was quite a stalemate. And John, somehow, still tried. Maybe it was because the man was his best mate, or because John loved him. Either way, John was determined to teach him just as much as Sherlock was determined not to learn.

 

"Right. Good, yes. Now tell me the order of planets from the sun outwards," John instructed, waiting. He had to be honest, over the years, a lot of the knowledge he had acquired about astronomy had been forgotten, but he still knew a lot more than the detective. John balanced his laptop in his lap, with the answers to his questions waiting on the pixel screen. Sherlock's answer was drawled out, but still correct. "Good. Now, tell me what a terrestrial planet is.” John asked, pursing his lips.

 

"A terrestrial planet is composed primarily of rocks and metal," Sherlock answered, his voice a deep monotone, and his body unmoving. 

 

John sighed in frustration. Why the hell was he still bothering with this? It wasn’t like the other was going to retain any of this information. John didn’t even know why Sherlock had brought it up in the first place. He had just set himself up for his own boredom.  "Good. Now tell me what an orbit is, and what an axis is, for a planet."

 

Sherlock let out a noise in the back of his throat, and his eyes popped open. "Dull. Not important."

 

John let out a frustrated huff of breath and set his laptop on the coffee table. "This isn't dull,” he lectured, grimacing a bit, "you asked for my help, Sherlock. I am helping you. Even if it means going through things that seem pointless."

 

The detective made a sound in the back of his throat again and rolled his eyes. "All I need to know is the basics, John. I don't need to know everything. Who cares anyway, whether we revolve around a burning ball of gas or a slice of cheese? We are all never going to go there anyways," he complained.

 

John was a patient man, he really was. For Sherlock, he was always extremely patient. But he couldn't take it anymore. "Sherlock, everything we go over is important. You asked me to teach this to you, so you should bloody well shut up and answer the questions!" He chided angrily, standing up out of his chair. He had had quite enough of the other’s grumbling, and complaining for one day. He would have to resume later, much later. Sometimes, the brunette’s attitude was too much. He was like a child some days; with the way he flopped onto the couch, and pouted. "I need a break," the good doctor grumbled, and stomped off to the kitchen. 

 

Sherlock didn't say a word; he only rolled his eyes yet again and stared up at the pale ceiling. John searched through their old cupboards, finding the tea he had good stock of. He made quite a lot, since it was his favourite drink. John filled the kettle as slow as he could; it was the best break he could have instead of taking a walk outside. He’d rather not, in the awful weather London had been getting. John plugged in the kettle and flipped the switch, then reached for two mugs as he waited. Oh, if only he could take a couple hours to just sleep. Maybe then he would have enough energy to deal with his ridiculous flatmate. The kettle light came on, which signaled John to finish making the tea. He would have gone slowly, but he didn’t want to cool the delicious drink. Once the tea was made, John carried the two mugs back into the living area. He was quite sure Sherlock had been watching him, but at the moment he really didn’t care. The man could deduce what he was angry about well enough.

 

John set a mug down on the coffee table for Sherlock and sipped at his own. He tried to focus on the hot liquid slipping down his throat, and tried to let the soothing taste calm him. Still, he felt rather aggravated. He took another sip and looked at Sherlock. 

 

The man, despite being annoying as hell, was still his Sherlock. He was stretched out pale limbs, with a porcelain torso and unruly curls. John could recall the moment he had tangled his hands in those curls last week. As he sipped at his warm tea, he saw Sherlock finally pick up his cup and take a sip. His long fingers tapped on the mug, a soft rhythm John had never heard. Must be because he was bored. _His fault. He was the one who wanted to learn about the solar system._

 

John finished his tea, the silence a good way to calm him down. He set his cup down on the coffee table, just as Sherlock did. "Alright. I’ll ask you again, the basics, so you memorize it. Tell me the order of the planets outwards from the sun," he inquired, impatiently.

 

There were colder hands on his wrists then, and John's head flicked up in surprise. Sherlock gripped his smaller wrists with force, staring at him with the most deadly expression. It reminded John of a cat watching its prey. The cat would be silent, unmoving, and watching. The prey would feel the sense of fear rage through its system, wondering when the cat would attack. Animal to animal, they would begin to stare at each other, waiting. Waiting, until one made their first move. Slowly, the cat would advance ever so slightly. It would be such a small movement that the prey would not notice…until it was too late.

 

Sherlock let out a small growl of frustration, and pulled John out of his chair. John couldn't focus on what exactly was happening, for the detective moved at lightning speed and he couldn't keep track. All John could remember then was falling onto his back on the couch and the detective lying upon him in an instant. His red, plump lips were at John's ear; breathing so John could hear every inhale and exhale. "Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and who cares about the other bloody planets because _I’m going to fuck you in your anus,_ " Sherlock growled. The words, in that deep baritone voice, sent heat straight down to John's cock, despite being a rather corny pun. 

 

Sherlock's lips found his, capturing them up in a mess of passion, saliva, and fever. And John kissed back. The sensations were brilliant, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. Sherlock had been right. No more Solar System, no more naming the planets. This was _much_ more important. All the anger John had felt, was completely gone. It had vanished the second John had felt the warm lips upon his own. The detective started to unbutton John's red shift carefully, his mouth creating small ministrations on every new patch of skin that was uncovered. His talented lips worked after the buttons were unfastened, and John swore he would be leaking precome through his jeans by now. "S-Sherlock...” He whispered; even at this stage he was unable to speak.

 

Looming over him in nothing but that silk dressing gown and dark boxer shorts, Sherlock was completely gorgeous. John had picked those boxer shorts to contrast with his skin, and it had seemed that he had made the right choice. The detective’s expert fingers were tugging his shirt off, leaving his torso bare, and then the tall man dived for his belt buckle. It took him less than twenty seconds to have it open and to be pulling John’s jeans off in one tug.

 

Clothes were in a pile on the floor, and now John had to pinch his teeth down on the sensitive flesh of his lip. Sherlock had taken up his nipple, and John could feel every flick of his tongue, and every nibble. “S…Sherlock…please,” John breathed out, his voice a faint whisper along with his heavy breathing. His cock twitched, as it lied on his stomach, unattended to. John wanted nothing more than to have _something_ touch him, instead of tease him.

 

His pleas were ignored, and Sherlock was trailing his soft, moist lips along John’s tanned skin. He flicked another nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, and then sucking. John’s back arched up off the sofa, and a breathy moan left his lips. He was letting out a silent plea, _Sherlock, please stop teasing._ This time, it seemed that he wanted to listen.

 

Sherlock stripped of his black boxers, and his dressing gown, so the clothes were in a pile on the floor. John stared up at him admiringly. His prick was straining, engorged, and becoming purple around the tip. He was leaking already. John realized that he had been in such a state for a while, and a little gasp escaped his mouth. He reached up and locked his fingers around the nape of Sherlock’s neck, to pull him into a kiss. John’s teeth tugged on his bottom lip, straining the soft, wet flesh. In turn, Sherlock pushed his intruding tongue into John’s mouth, feeling every crevice and every contour.

 

Bucking his hips up, desperate for more contact, John let out a soft moan into their interlocked mouths. Although the sound was mostly muffled, Sherlock’s observant mind already knew what he needed now. Miraculously, there was a tube of lubricant pulled from the couch cushions. John had no time to question it, but somehow he figured Sherlock had been expecting this outcome of their teaching session. John bucked his hips yet again, and he was rewarded, with the tip of Sherlock’s long digit tracing his entrance. He did it so sinfully slow, sliding it over the puckered skin, and memorizing the feeling.

 

The second his first knuckle was slid in, John let out a soft noise. The finger was spreading him, invading his body, and he had to adjust in the slightest. It was odd to have a foreign object inside him; painful at first, but then it got so much better. The wetness of the lube made Sherlock’s finger slide in and out with efficiency, and left John moaning and gasping for more.

 

He was a rather loud lover, when Sherlock took him. But it seemed that his noises had a good effect on the detective. And so, he didn’t make an effort to soften his moans. He had at first, but it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hold the sounds of pleasure anymore.

 

In and out, Sherlock’s finger went, sending him in a fury of pleasure. “M-More.” He begged, pushing his hips down now, to meet Sherlock’s upward movements. He was rewarded by two fingers pushing in, stretching him wider. Another cry left his lips, and he pushed his hips down shamelessly, trying to fuck himself on those fingers just as much as he was getting fucked by them.

 

Those long, violinist fingers scissored, and pushed deeper, hitting his prostate. John’s back instinctively arched, and a deep moan fell from the good doctor’s lips. His eyes squeezed shut, and his head rolled back. He was incapable of focusing on anything besides the pleasure now. If Sherlock kept this up, he might even climax without Sherlock inside of him. And John really didn’t want that. “Sherlock..I..n-hnng- I need you,” he breathed, impatiently.

 

The fingers slid out after his words, and the twenty seconds it took Sherlock to apply lube to his leaking erection was like complete torture. John’s breathing was already heavy, and he felt lost without anything inside him now. That was the thing about having sex with Sherlock. It filled him, and made them one. And that was exactly what they both needed sometimes. His eyes opened, watching the delectable sight above him. It felt as if a million years went by as he watched, as he waited. And then there it was, Sherlock shifted and pressed the tip to John’s entrance. He pushed in further, deeper. John could feel his muscles stretching, expanding, and making room for the new object inside of him. His eyes snapped shut, his face contorted in both pleasure and pain. “Sherlock...hnng,” was all that came out of the good doctor’s lips. He was helpless now, and unable to speak.

 

With a snap of his hips, Sherlock was pulling out and pushing in again, creating a soft rhythm. He knew not to go quickly at first, and he knew not to touch John’s cock yet. Both of them wanted the bliss to last. John’s arms found their way around his upper torso, and his nails started to scratch lines in the other’s back. They would both have love marks, and evidence of their sex on them tomorrow, but neither would care. It would only remind them of how wonderful the experience had been. Sherlock rolled his hips again, fucking John slowly, carefully at first. John was broken now, completely unravelled underneath the observant man. He couldn’t form words; the only thing that came from his mouth were sounds of gratification and Sherlock’s name.

 

“John….. God, John. You’re fantastic,” Sherlock groaned, in his deep tone. His voice, like liquid velvet, melted into John’s ears and made him moan. The detective leaned down further, his lips attacking John’s neck as he started to fuck him harder, deeper. John tilted his neck to the side, letting the man have all the access he wanted. Those lips, made more hickeys appear on his tanned skin. John could recall that he wouldn’t be able to hide a few, even if he wore his turtleneck.

 

The hot, stiff piece of skin inside of him suddenly was angled just in the right way, brushing over his prostate. It brushed over it in such a way, that the little bump sent sensations all through John’s body. His nerves made him arch, and his legs and arms tighten around the other’s body. He cried out Sherlock’s name, panting. The sofa would most definitely be the pain of John’s back tomorrow, to remind him he wasn’t a teenager anymore, but right now he was in so much pleasure he couldn’t care.

 

Sherlock’s hand travelled down, and gripped John’s leaking cock, pumping it in time with his now erratic thrusts. John knew he wouldn’t last long with both sensations, but he could care less. There they were, fucking each other senselessly on their sofa. Moans, heavy breathing, and groans hit both their ears; along with the obscene sounds coming from Sherlock inside of John. In and out, Sherlock went, and every time the man brushed John’s prostate, he cried out in ecstasy. “Sherlock! Oh, please, Sherlock, _harder_!” John cried, his hands pulling the man into a deep kiss. Sherlock complied willingly, and John felt their hips snapping together so hard, that both of them would have bruises the next day. Oh, but it was all worth it, it really was.

 

The man stroked John’s erection, sliding the foreskin and feeling it move under his fingertips. It was almost as if Sherlock was memorizing every inch of the object. John didn’t care, because the way he did, was so hot. Fingers brushed the glans underneath, and around the veins, causing John to arch and Sherlock to push deeper inside him. Those fingers then wrapped around the base, jerking, and driving John wild. “Come on, John, release with me...” Sherlock purred in his sultry voice. It was enough to almost send John over the edge. A few more minutes of Sherlock’s languid, and delectable strokes, and he would likely loose himself in climax.

 

John’s climax was like an impending storm, as it welled up in the pit of his belly. He felt it, resisted it as long as he could. But, he could no more. His whole body tensed, as the climax approached, and his muscles squeezed the prick inside of him. And then, he was releasing. He came with a loud, long cry, and spouted all over both of their chests. His muscles spasmed, as they became so very sensitized. “Sher-SHERLOCK, oh god…Sherlock...” John quieted down as his climax left him weak and breathless, but he still felt the push and pull of the hard object inside him.

 

And then, Sherlock was hitting his own climax. John could feel it, inside of him. “Jo..JohnJohnJohn..JOHN.” Sherlock cried, thrusting fiercely through his orgasm, wanting the pleasure to last. John let him, watching, until the detective became over sensitized and flopped down on top of him. They were sticky, and sweaty, but neither could care. Reaching for a tissue, John shifted ever so slightly to wipe off their chests, and Sherlock pulled himself from John’s body. He was empty now, but there was so much pleasure soaring through him that he didn’t mind. Holding Sherlock tightly, he peppered lazy kisses to his cheeks.

 

“I love you, Sherlock,” John whispered, too tired to make his voice any louder. God, after a week of not shagging, that had been fantastic.

 

“I love you as well, John.” Sherlock replied. His arms wrapped around the smaller doctor and shifted their bodies so John was atop him, cuddling into his naked frame. Sherlock pulled a soft blanket over their bodies, and pressed a kiss to the ex-army doctor’s forehead. “Like I said, John, there is no need to know astronomy. It is completely pointless. There are so many things you could focus on, here on Earth,” he pointed out, egotistically. “But, just so you know, I’ve already memorized everything you tried to teach me. The order of the planets from the sun outwards is Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.  The known Dwarf Planets in our Solar System are Ceres, Pluto, Eris, Makemake, and Haumea. A day is the time it takes for the planet to rotate along its axis, and a year is the time it takes for the Earth to revolve around the sun. A terrestrial planet is a planet composed mostly of rock and metal, and the inner planets are all terrestrial planets. The outer planets; Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune are all gas giants-“

 

John pressed a kiss to his lips then, to silence him. “Shut up, you bloody idiot,” John hissed, rolling his eyes playfully. “No need to boast. We are not having this argument again, got it? The topic of the Solar System is now resolved.”

 

Sherlock scoffed a bit, rolling his iridescent eyes and holding John tighter against him.

 


End file.
